


No Guarantee

by A_Depressing_And_Complicated_Existence



Series: No Guarantee (Of Eveything) [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, B r e a d, Friendship, Gen, No Romance, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Hatred, Self-Insert, Temporary Character Death, The man's angry, Unreliable Narrator, at everything, child protagonist, for now, for real, no beta we die like idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Depressing_And_Complicated_Existence/pseuds/A_Depressing_And_Complicated_Existence
Summary: It was all perfectly planned, everything was.He hated deviation from anything in his life, after all he was a creature of habit.But he did not prepare or plan for death, much less his own.He should have never asked for a second chance.
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Original Male Character(s)
Series: No Guarantee (Of Eveything) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893724
Kudos: 2





	1. Dying Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all perfectly planned, everything was.
> 
> He hated deviation from anything in his life, after all he was a creature of habit.
> 
> But he did not prepare or plan for death, much less his own.
> 
> He should have never signed up for a second chance.

Jonathan immediately woke up and his eyes darted around his room, he noted the air conditioner bucket was full again and that some idiot was still turning off the AC every day before he woke up.

He silently vowed to catch whoever did that one day and went to the bathroom for his morning ritual, looking at his pitiful self with an audible frown.

He had a mop of black hair that he’d never brushed since he lost those things, Sunken black eyes that’d mirror his freckled dirty face whenever he focused on it, his bruised, dried lips that he could never fix even with plenty of water and crooked teeth that made him look like a gremlin, a short 4’7 gremlin that had stunted growth, ears that was almost deaf because of neglect and failing eyesight that the privilege of being able to see in the middle of the night clearly being loss over time.

He sneered at himself through the mirror and wiped his face with water from the sink faucet.

Going downstairs to tell one of the housekeepers about the AC bucket, he realized when he was downstairs, _nobody_ was there.

Not even his _adorable_ cinnamon roll bear dogs, instead there was just unnerving silence in his lonely little home.

It was investigation time and he was _scared_ , it reminded him of that one ARG that was about some woman named Mary and something about her monsters, but screw it, he was a child and circumstances called for a possibly insensitive investigation.

So, the first order of business was to check the windows all over the house to see if someone, something or anything sentient was outside his walled home, and he checked and double-checked to make sure his eyes didn’t fail on him. But nothing came out of the window search. Zilch. No dogs, No humans, No Sentient Being and no supernatural or blue box appearing out of nowhere even.

_Ouch_ , Jonathan grimly thought.

So, he opted to move to the second order of business, and it meant he was going to search the rooms downstairs still and the backyard halfheartedly, mostly because it reeked of inhumanely disgusting scents that somehow existed because of humanity and because he could only check by opening the door like Google Street View.

And he did, it began, and ended in Kool Aid Man bursting through the wall and giving him neon Kool Aid. 

He was joking of course.

He hated Kool-Aid with passion, and more for Kool Aid Man and neon lighting.

With that he meant Nada Nada mi, there was no one, not even the mysterious hut in the backyard had the allegedly human disaster housekeepers Jay and Tim were _there_.

It was highly unusual to find no one In the usually empty but still busy home he lived in, it was starting to get to him, and he, Jonathan, didn’t like it a single bit.

And the only things he found around the first floor of the house was some weird orange-y slime in the first-floor bathroom, he spray washed it with the shower-head and some other patches of the same orange-y slime in the backyard too. He water hosed them too. And there was more, in the dog pen, where his four sweet cinnamon roll fluffy dogs lived in. 

He didn’t know how to deal with that, so he left it alone, for now.

He felt like maybe his step-father…no, his mother wouldn’t allow animal experimentation much less Con to do that, it would just rip his already dysfunctional family a new reason to fall apart at the seams and a reason to make his mother’s second marriage fail.

He grunted and perished that though immediately and decided to ditch investigation for the second floor, and instead make himself some sugar-free hot cup of cocoa and watch some videos about MLMs.

The absolute silence was getting to him, and he didn’t want to become the crazy nutjob of the family because of being left alone for weeks with nothing but canned foods, a microwave and no wi-fi. 

Last time it happened, it wasn’t very…pretty.

_Geh._

He was getting too absorbed in his thoughts too many times this day, so he got himself pumped up with going to the kitchen and humming nonsensical things.  
He filled the iron kettle, flicked it on, left it to boil, and began doing the next step of making sugar-free cocoa.

Actually, bothering to do it, he began shoving powdered milk down the 1# Brother mug he stole from the cupboard, filling it halfway and shoving some powdered chocolate over the powdered milk with his skinny hands that reminded him of his grandmother’s weak, saggy arms….damn it! He was thinking too much! _Focus, Focus!_

Jonathan grunted as soon as the iron kettle’s switch flicked off by itself as a natural mechanism, he grabbed a spoon and shoved it into the mug and mixed the powder before grabbing the iron kettle by the handle and dumping the boiling, hot water into the mug to the brim.

He was careful in mixing in the mug, he didn’t want a repeat of the Burning Everything In The Kitchen Incident (TM). 

You know how to cook, she said. Cook anything on the stove, _she said!_

He was getting annoyed just by remembering _that _, and ditched remembering it in favour of bringing the hot cocoa upstairs to his bedroom quickly.__

____

____

Ah, but he couldn’t. Why? Because _peace_ , it seems, didn’t want to exist for him.

And why didn’t peace want to exist for him? _His dear to god parents were banging one door over like some raunchy teen-drama neighbors!_

He felt that his intervention was very much needed so he could enjoy the wee morning. He wanted to act selfish for once. He was already a doormat at high school, and transferring that to his home didn’t bode well for him. He already had a lot to deal with, and thinking about it made the skin of his body, _shiver_.

And so, he turned around and walked to the last door in the eerie hallway, staring at the odd shrine propped up in the middle of it, and avoiding it thereafter, and arrived in front of the door where he could hear much more clearer.

Now, he wasn’t actually very sure if his parents were even banging, because, the sounds coming from the room sounded something or someone falling over again and again and other things breaking and shattering. It sounded someone was getting murdered inside of there.

And it concerned him. It very much made him feel concerned on whatever the hell was going inside there. He crossed his fingers and wished himself luck before turning the door knob and there he saw as he stood there, something straight out of the depths, no, from the very deep depths of hell itself.

The room-, it was burning, everything in sight was falling apart, you name it. 

And his parents, _oh dear god_. They were made and molded into pure, burning _nightmare fuel_ , they were so unrecognizable that the way he only knew they were his parents was because of the clothes they wore, the melting and burning clothes that looked like it melted like candle wax, and he knew that burning didn’t work that way.

And the pain, the immense _pain _, he saw in the eyes of what was left of his parents anymore, it was forever ingrained in his head. And they looked, _looked at him_.__

____

__

And the moment they looked at him, they crawled towards him so pitifully _slow_.

He could see the inner workings of whatever’s left of them, their red beating, heart, their burning intestines that caught on fire, their exposed and melting skulls and brain, their body, the legs, they were turning into orange puddles mixed with blood, and they were approaching him, and he connected the dots.

_He was the last one left alive in the house._

A hand grabbed onto one of his legs and he looked down, it was what was left of his mother, holding onto his leg with her scalding hand.

Out of reflex, he ganked her with the cup of cocoa and smashed it on her head.

She screeched an unholy screech that was so loud it would’ve made him cover his ears, but he didn’t.

His ears were already feeling deaf from the moment he entered this unholy room.

He kicked her in the face, and her stomach exploded with acid, practically spilling it over the floor.

She collapsed onto the floor and turned into a puddle of orange slime of stomach acid and hot cocoa.

It wasn’t very pretty, and it didn’t help that it wasn’t, and it crossed the line and finally made him vomit something all over himself, it was blood.

_Blood?_

He looked at his hands and saw it as the truth sinked in for him, he was dying, and he was going to experience whatever the hell his parents went through, as they were both thoroughly dead and his step-father fell through the window and hit one of the cars his family owned moments earlier, it was ironic.

And he was starting to feel that his legs were numb and wobbling.

He didn’t know what to do.

He-

He wasn’t prepared, he never was.

And so, he whipped his body around and left the burning room.

The house was starting to fall apart from the spreading fire and everything made of wood was making it worse. He was already hearing the blaring sound of ambulances approaching his house and made his way to his room, past the bathroom and grabbed his laptop with his skinny, melting hands and knew it was stupid and selfish of him to grab his laptop and try to go downstairs and save himself, but what else is there to save? Nothing.

He was still alive, and chose to pick up his slack and hugged the laptop and turned to the stairs and went down, he felt he was becoming shorter every minute he wasted and more sick of his life he did it. It was worthless and ultimately reckless to do it. But the only things he bonded more was his brother, who he never saw since 2 years ago and the other was his half-broken laptop.

He reached the bottom stairs, feeling shorter and burning every second, he saw 2 firefighters bust through the front door right at that moment.

Jonathan felt relieved, and knew he was going to be saved, and approached them quickly.

Jonathan didn’t hear what they were saying, but they looked horrified at the sight of him, the same look he had when he had seen what his parents turned into. He didn’t care anymore.

But then he realized he could feel his heart beating much clearer than ever in his life and felt one of his ribs melt right there, and his eyes, they were starting to feel uneven.  
He still didn’t care, he was being escorted, no laid into something white as his laptop was taken away like it was some worthless toy. 

**_IT WAS HIS AnD hIS AlOnE._ **

Jonathan felt one of his eyes fall out of one of his eye sockets as he attempted to reach for it, but he kept being kept down by the doctors like some rabid German Shepard. 

**_nO._ **

**He dIDn’T wAnt tO lOse It.**

**hE DiDn’T WaNt To LoSE i-**

“ _Sir, Jonathan C. Hale has died._ ”

“ _Oh. Such a shame to lose a patient like this again, but it looked like he didn’t have a chance to survive and function normally after that anyway. And everyone said that the Hale family could live through anything, it seems that tale was highly exaggerated. Man, Their third son couldn’t even survive the Mitchett Plague._ ”

“ _Not really, but Sir-_ “

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Sir, the deceased is burning still._ ”

“ _Well **shit** , put it out then!_”

And on June 11th , 2020, Jonathan C. Hale died.

His cause of death was the Mitchett Plague and by way of burning and melting alive.

Nobody knew who caused the fire that day, but some was suspected that their neighbor or one of the former cult members who worshipped Cthulhu caused it.  
And so, the Hale Bloodline ended….

**…or did it?**

===

Jonathan's eyes snapped open as he found himself laying down on something, not melting to death, going insane, losing his beloved laptop to those crummy buggers and breathing fine.

Jonathan laid there still on whatever he was laid on before sitting upwards and checking himself, finding that his hands weren’t bony or melting, and that he wore clothes he’d never put on before, but he knew where they were from, quite well.

A white trench coat that had 2 iconic small golden pins on its greyish collar? Check.

A red and white patterned sweater that was similar to what a familiar memetic man wore? Check.

White winter boots with sloppily tied laces? Check.

Jonathan checked the length of his hair and thanked silently whatever benevolent being that did this was spared from his annoying behavior because the state of his body wasn’t altered into a female’s, but for now, he also noted, that he was sitting on a chair for people with shrinks and shortly realized soon after, _Shouldn’t he be traumatized because of what happened earlier?_

“Oh yes, you should be indeed.” Echoed a familiar masculine voice.

He immediately turned his attention to wherever that voice came from and found it was a small speaker attached next to an elaborately detailed wooden door with the Ouroboros symbol on it directly in front of him.

He visibly hesitated and asked knowing it was a stupid question, “Are..you God?”

Inhumane, Screeching laughter came from the speaker.

“God? _God?_ That’s just hilarious! It’s a deliberate title for things like those of your kind can’t understand and stands firmly next to the word Ineffable but for a different reason, _Ha!_ ”

His brows furrowed at that, getting a feeling that whoever on the speaker was lying spectacularly, bullshitting or maybe truth by omission. He didn’t know, but he wanted to frankly call bullshit with him ending up looking clever than he was.

“..what about the…snake door? is the snake on it going to,” he motioned his hands at it. “become alive and, become a shrink magically here? Because it could happen, and I look like I’m in a room where a shrink’s gonna appear.” He looked at the wooden door with the Ouroboros symbol.

Whoever on the speaker was speaking, hesitated at the words spoken and coughed.

“Yes…that, unfortunately I’m no Wizard so, no half-snake shrinks, bras happened last time I tried.” Their voice shivered at that.

“But! that door is important, and I encourage you to go through it my c-friend, it will lead to a hallway with an elevator that is waiting for you to arrive, it shall let you go to where I am and there, I await your Presence, Jonathan Hale.” Immediately after that, the small speaker began melding into the wall itself like clay.

He had a blank face that could’ve been mistaken for a child’s drawing after an inordinate amount of silence after the speaker melded into the wall. 

. . .

Jonathan stood up and began punching the shrink chair he was sitting down on as a way to make the innate frustration of being here disappear until his hands became numb whenever he shoved it in ice before this event happened. 

After that, Jonathan picked up his slack and opened the Ouroboros Door and just like the man on the speaker said, there was a classy hallway with black lanterns on each side of the wall and at the end of it was the Elevator(TM).

Although the hallway was a little weird due to constant music or more accurately the Mii channel music on loop he heard while walking relatively quickly towards the Elevator(TM), but that didn’t matter anymore, he was already in the elevator and realized he would rather take a fish-boat than a nausea-inducing elevator trip.

The general emotions he was feeling about this situation was this was either a secret kidnapping with LSD involved so the victims hallucinates while being kidnapped by the mafia, or he really did experience intense trauma that he repressed very well with a wall to protect his general sanity and everything else before he could go insane.  
Oh, he also felt weirdly triumphant for feeling taller than he should be when he stood up and walked into this nauseating elevator. 

Being proud for having your growth stunted was a weird thing he used to have pride in because most of his family was shorter than him, the middle, middle child, but then high-school obliterated that sense of pride by having most of the students he met there being taller than him.

He was like some Hobbit or something damn it, he hated being the small man!

But for now, he just had a single objective for now, meet whoever was behind the speaker and ask logical questions to get their own curiosity snuffed off temporarily, or if things weren’t going to be civil, the alternative option was to try to get back to the Elevator very quickly or stun them to hold them off until he had enough time to call the police and-

Someone began clapping slowly as the Elevator door slid away and he stepped outside to see where he was and, it honestly came out of the left field.

Because he was fairly sure he was in the building where the Avengers are in the films cause’ of the immense awesomeness of how it looked.

And because Tony Stark was there too. Sitting on the weird long couch.

How was Tony Stark actually here and how did Jonathan recognize Tony Stark was indeed, not Robert Downey Jr. in disguise? 

Because, wow, did he look cooler than Robert Downey Jr. and because of the Arc Reactor, that looked even cooler than the films, Jonathan dumbly reasoned.

“Wow.” Jonathan gasped.

“Wow indeed.” Tony Stark said with a friendly grin, standing up from the couch and walking over to him with a wave. He was wearing a very cool suit that Jonathan never saw in any of the films.

And Jonathan couldn’t hold his bubbling question inside of his mouth.

“Ar-Are you really Tony Stark?!” Jonathan asked giddily.

Tony Stark.. _frowned?_

_He frowned?_

“Nope.” The man who was not decidedly Tony Stark said, popping the ‘p’.

Jonathan made an ‘o’ face.

“I’m the man-manning the speaker, and the one who wants your _**Presence**_ here, my dear _friend_. Now take a seat on the counter and let’s _**talk**_.” The man grinned wide enough that it didn’t belong on their face at all.

In a deep corner of his mind, Jonathan wished he’d be dead rather be here, because there was something deeply _wrong_ about this man.

Jonathan gulped nervously and walked up to bar counter and sat down on it, the feeling of his trench coat engulfing his legs becoming comforting and slightly calming his sense of incoming dread and possibility of dying young again.

The man clapped. “Since, I already know your name, I shall introduce myself as, _**The Ineffable**_. It’s a simple name that gets straight to the point, much more accurate than the name “ _ **Iron Man**_ ” for a dubbed “ _superhero_ ” .” **_The Ineffable_** air-quoted with a bitter scoff.

Jonathan felt like there was some underlying meaning in the man’s words.

“Anyways, the introduction semantics are done. I’m going to give you an _Ơ̴̢̜͎̭̞̙͚͓̗̙͛̇͐͒̍̋̿͊̓̈́͑̚͘̕͝f̴̡̢̭̹̖̳̱̜̣͕͓̙̳̫̳͉̦͙͇̭͚̗̱͉̼͙͎͕̪̻̲̿̃͂̔̎͜͜ͅf̸̨̨̢̛͕̯̰̹̞͉̮̱̓͂̏̓͋̀͌̑̈́̓̀̑͆͐͌̇͌̌̕͠͝͝e̸̢̨̝̭̗̜̝̻̝̱̹̺̖͚̩͉̒̌͋̍̋̋̊̑́͋͊͊̒̂̚ͅr̷̡̢̢̙̜̟̰̣̺̣͕͕̻̭͕̫̲͎̦̯̠͖̗͇͙̰͚͖̠̲̠̹͎̳̯͍̟̖̰̭̲̱̋̽̃̏̇̾͐̾̀̎̑̌͆̊́̓̈̎̚͜͝͝͠ͅ_ , I’ll give you a slightly simplified rundown of it, but before that, any questions asked?” The man asked.

Jonathan visibly hesitated. “Is this similar to…the devil deal thing?”

The man looked disgusted at the mere mention of it, pinching the bridge of their nose. “ _No!_ The **_Demon’s Contract_** does exist, but it’s absolutely only done or used by the most desperate, pathetic, cowardly and degenerate beings of your kind. I absolutely despise those type of things and more-so the _Demons_ themselves, they’re the lowest of the lowest, losing their _Grace of **Heaven**_ because of..”

The man groaned and made a casual gesture in the air.

“..Never mind. I’m just rambling now, I know you most likely don’t have any questions left for now, correct?” They narrowed their eyes at him. Jonathan did have many, many questions about the man’s rambling, but he decided to focus on the supposedly more important thing to ask.

“Nu-uh, but, just last, _last_ question, are you like, a _R.O.B?_ ” Jonathan’s voice became whisper.

The man looked undecidedly disappointed at that. 

“No. I’m not. I’m against them, those _disgusting_ lot.” The man spat.

“ Though, I’d hate to be mistaken for a disgusting _Demon_ , hah!” He chuckled.

__“Although, I wonder if you thought I was a _Demon_ of all things, _wonder_ what might have happened if you did…” He grinded his teeth with a poor attempt at smiling at Jonathan.

Jonathan once again, wanted to die to escape from the blasted man.

_**The Ineffable**_ coughed into their hands, the hate for _**Demons**_ disappearing momentarily. “Returning to the _Ơ̴̢̜͎̭̞̙͚͓̗̙͛̇͐͒̍̋̿͊̓̈́͑̚͘̕͝f̴̡̢̭̹̖̳̱̜̣͕͓̙̳̫̳͉̦͙͇̭͚̗̱͉̼͙͎͕̪̻̲̿̃͂̔̎͜͜ͅf̸̨̨̢̛͕̯̰̹̞͉̮̱̓͂̏̓͋̀͌̑̈́̓̀̑͆͐͌̇͌̌̕͠͝͝e̸̢̨̝̭̗̜̝̻̝̱̹̺̖͚̩͉̒̌͋̍̋̋̊̑́͋͊͊̒̂̚ͅr̷̡̢̢̙̜̟̰̣̺̣͕͕̻̭͕̫̲͎̦̯̠͖̗͇͙̰͚͖̠̲̠̹͎̳̯͍̟̖̰̭̲̱̋̽̃̏̇̾͐̾̀̎̑̌͆̊́̓̈̎̚͜͝͝͠ͅ_ I mentioned earlier, It involves this little thing,” He pulled out a rather thick folder out of his suit and placed it on Jonathan’s small lap.

Jonathan stared at the thick folder with quiet contempt before picking it up from his lap and opening it like a book.

As soon as Jonathan saw the inside of the folder, he whispered. “This is _**thick**_.”

But, Jonathan kept flipping the pages like it was a stop-motion train wreck and after reading it all for a few minutes, he looked back up at the man with exasperation.

“ _Woah_. This is a _lot_ , but, really, no catch at _all_ , Mr. _I’m-Ineffable?_ Because if there is I’m going to guess that as best-case scenario there’s just some weak blackmail and worst case is something I’m not going to mention to _you_.”

He, the man, opened and closed his mouth like a floppy fish and had a very concerned look in his eyes with skewed priorities in tow.

“Are you sure _you're_ a child? Because if you aren’t…this is, _frankly_ , going to be my worst decision in decades so far, and..” He muttered something so quiet, it sounded like he was humming.

“Yes, I’m a _child_ , just very mature for my age that’s all.” _And because puberty hasn’t happened yet to destroy everything_ , Jonathan mused in his mind.

“Alright..” The man agreed with a thoughtful expression.

“ _Any_ -ways, back to the main thing in hand, Is there really no catch? Like, no torture catch if I don’t fall under your control?” Jonathan crossed his arms.

The man did a sharp breath intake and snapped. “No. I would _never_ torture _children_. I’m not sadistic, I’m empathetic, _Jonathan_.”

Jonathan winced. “Sorry.”

The man sighed and gave a pat to the shoulders to him. “I’ll accept your weak apology, but, I’ll give you a little advice.”

He clapped, and there appeared, next to where he sat, a fully functional modern coffee-maker with an already full cup of bitter coffee. The man picked it up and sipped, and put it back down on the counter, he crossed his fingers.

A few minuscule moments later, a buzzing sound that reminded Jonathan of cute bees was closing in on the building and with the sound of an elevator arriving, something inhumanely disgusting stepped outside it. 

The mentioned inhumanely disgusting…thing had a large mosquito head in place of where a human head would be, it had bulging red reflective eyes to boot, and it was in a purple business suit with folded grey fly wings. It also had sharp green mantis claws that dripped of blood.

And it approached Jonathan and the man who wasn’t a bastard omnipotent being.

It bowed in front of the man he was next to and squinted its eyes at the man, completely ignoring Jonathan, which made him secretly grateful.

It was scratching its chin with its sharp mantis claws and asked with a timid flat tone that Jonathan wasn’t even sure was achievable by humans. “ _Z-Zatch is the reason you need of Drifon, Benevolent Lord Starkenh?_ ”

Jonathan would’ve done a literal blood made spit-take at that, hearing the most unimaginative name for the man sitting next to him in his whole short life. Drifon, the strange name, sounded posh and fitting, strangely enough.

“Well, _Jonathan_ , if you ever find yourself in debt of someone..” Starkenh began with an inhumane smile on his face that was filled giddy glee.

Drifon, the posh fly, tilted its head at Starkenh and asked with a strained voice . “ _Be-Benevolent Lord Starkenh?_ ”

“..never trust them.” 

“ _Starken_ -!“ Before the posh fly could finish his panicked warning, he froze with his bulging bug eyes widening, and in a moment that would’ve ended very differently but didn’t.

The posh fly’s eyes exploded with blood spraying everywhere, Jonathan managed to avoid the blood spraying by switching seats and hiding under the counter, the ma-Starkenh, just turned incorporeal almost lazily and avoided it all together.

The posh fly screeched so loud that it made Jonathan covered his ears.

Starkenh re-appeared and looked strangely thoughtful, which changed to annoyance once he snapped his fingers.

The bloody posh fly turned to stone immediately like he was hit with Medusa’s eyesight trick.

In a deep dark part of Jonathan’s mind, he agreed with himself that what used to be posh fly, now a statue, looked disturbingly terrific, and a little beautiful to add spice.

Jonathan in reality, immediately perished that cursed thought and succeeded in not screaming at the already absurd situation he was in.

And then the posh fly statue cracked and exploded too, It scattered with big pieces exploding like fireworks but more dustier, the clothes, the only things that weren’t turned to stone, were torn by the sudden dust explosions.

This time, Jonathan could not avoid getting covered in the dust of what used to be a terrific posh fly statue and he ended up coughing up a lot with his frown. 

Starkenh had a very strange reaction that Jonathan did not see. Recognition and immense guilt.


	2. Being Miserable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan's respect of Starkenh almost sinks, Legos get mentioned and one piece of paper's a lie.
> 
> But not all of them happen in that order.

“Oh, for _br-god’s sake_.” Jonathan cursed and coughed again, accidentally inhaling the posh fly statue’s dust, again. That, Jonathan began in his head with a shake, was not very pleasant to experience.

Jonathan ducked under the counter, between the seats, and patted the dust off his clothes that had sadly had some small bloody uneven dots from earlier, and hopped back on the counter, feeling his spine was suffering from that.

Of course, Starkenh was there, who was still standing there and cringed at what they did, with his terribly hidden guilt gone in a millisecond, he nervously coughed. 

“I…expected much more hazah and much more firework-y effects and that to be less…dramatic, but an-anyways,” He clicked his tongue. “Serious business.”

Jonathan straightened his poor damaged spine.

“…And what is said serious business?” Jonathan asked with lidded eyes.

“Remember the contract I told you to read?” Starkenh’s voice became nervous whisper.

“Yes?” Jonathan’s lips thinned.

“Well that was a load of _complete **bullshit**_ I gave you.”

Jonathan opened and closed his mouth like a fish at the ridiculousness of what should be a lie.

“ _I’m sorry, but, ex-fucking-scuse me, **how?**_ ” His left eyebrow raised to highest heaven as he leaned in.

“Because it was a _fake_ one,” Starkenh paused. “for D&D.”

“D&D? D&D? This,” Jonathan hysterically smacked the folder in his hands. “Does not look like it belongs in a session for D&D and more like something I would’ve found in a professional business deal, if it was, it’s almost the length of that god forbidden story for Old Man Henderson, _god damn it for god sakes!_

Starkenh, quite visibly cringed. “Look, my range of imagination ranges from the size of a shoe to the size of a heaven-sent statue of ideas, so It’s not my fault.”

“Not my fault, _my ass_. How did this is even _happen?_ How could you mistake something fo- _oh._ ” Jonathan made a face.

“Oh, my fucking bloody _god_ , my head’s thick, god I hate _you_ , I hate _this_.” He hissed.

Starkenh hummed and raised his eyebrows. 

“Know what?” Jonathan held up his hands and hopped down from the counter, giving a sharp look to the eldritch abomination in front of him. “Where’s the _real_ contract? You must’ve just misplaced it somewhere like a remote or magazine, _right?_ ”  
“Well,” Starkenh clicked his tongue again. “Sort of, I think.”

“You _think?_ You know my opinion of you as the all-powerful eldritch abomination is depleting, I’m starting to think you aren’t as smart as you presented yourself as.”

Starkenh grumbled something unintelligible with an annoyed look and snapped his fingers, looking concentrated.

A few seconds passed, and Jonathan had begun tapping his dusty boots, he frowned.

And then something finally appeared, on the counter where Jonathan’s attention went to.

it was a bright, red, box for…Legos.

Jonathan looked back at the most disappointing person he’d ever encounter, he was wondering why he was feeling hysterical like a piece of shite today, but now he knew, he knew what it was.

“Bloody **_Legos?_** “ His voice reached a new high pitch with a tone of hysterical accusation bleeding in. Jonathan was beyond tranquil fury already, he was pushed to that point so many times by his own bloody family his anger built up over the years, waiting to break the dam, and this was almost breaking said dam.

“Well yes, Legos. I play and build, with _Legos._ ” The most disappointing person pointed to the box of Legos as if it explained everything, and promptly realized something. 

“ _Uh._ So, this is where the…uh, contract thingy I misplaced. I’m gonna snap it here, _ha-ha…_ ” Starkenh did as he said, and there it appeared in Joey’s hands, where the fake contract got swapped out for.

Jonathan looked down on his hands and saw that it was a single piece of rubbish paper with cursive letters that he could’ve swore was Old English for a moment before the letters themselves came to bloody life and moved around the paper and even _danced_ around his own hands.

They were beautiful to watch, to watch them twist, turn and rip apart into new letters. it made his hands tingle with tiny happiness that made his anger dwindle enough that he didn’t feel like strangling Mr. Disappointment. 

And so, the letters formed into actual words he could understand, which were simple enough, but it was actually handwritten quite beautifully, although he felt like he wanted run away from it weirdly enough.

He looked up from the translated contract and narrowed his eyes once he read it in silence and as Mr. Disappointment sat on the counter-chair, or whatever it was called. 

He cleared his throat. “This is surprisingly better than the D&D contract, It’s a bit wonky, but it did make _me_ , the embodiment of sloth, motivated, so,” He shrugged and reached his hand out to Starkenh. 

“We’re signing it.”

Starkenh looked confused for a moment and made an ‘o’ face before he snapped his fingers.

And there something appeared simultaneously as he did that, they were floating in the air, it was an old-fashioned ink pen and a too-familiar plain looking ballpoint pen that had small, stripped paper swirling around it.

Jonathan held his breath in as he took the floating ballpoint pen with a reverent look in his eyes, the same time Starkenh did, who was looking strangely uncomfortable at that, and plucked the contract from Joey’s hands.

There, Jonathan snapped out of revering his pen like some cultist and sputtered awkwardly.

Starkenh rolled his eyes and signed the contract with his apparently infinitely inked pen, whatever he wrote there, it vaguely resembled what Joey could compare to a doctor’s writing, or more actually what the equivalent of dog shit.

Jonathan felt vaguely sorry and signed the bottom of the contract next to Starkenh’s signature, beginning with the letters “Ja” in cursive.

Huh. That was strange. Bugger.

He mentally shrugged and overwrote the a for an o and signed it completely, it was pretty to look at for one, and made his ribs feel like they were puncturing holes in his lungs when he glanced at his pen from high school, before he died.

He shook his head and glanced at an unamused Starkenh.

He sighed and snapped the contract to dust.

Starkenh clapped. “Right, we’re done with the contract and so, how do you wanna get kicked out?”

Jonathan pursed his lips with a confused shiver. “ _What?_ ”

_Oh great, it’s a Repeater._ “Literally, I’m saying _how_ do you want to get kicked out? I could throw you into a Tipler Cylinder or a pity portal if you said so.” _Though no time machines, I hate those._

Jonathan had a thoughtful look on his face. “..I have no idea what any of those are, but the way…”

He made a duck face. “I’m gonna make an assumption that you’ll twist anything I suggest with the intention of making me suffer,” Starkenh genuinely winced. “And so, I pick the Tipler-Cylinder and to somewhere random, random is better.” _Although I’m fairly sure I heard that somewhere._

Starkenh looked somber with his hollow grin. “Well, congratulations.” _You’ve joined the club._

Jonathan blinked, realizing something. “Oh, I have a question, last one.”

Starkenh raised an eyebrow at the sudden-ness.

“Can I call you something other than Starkenh?” Jonathan asked innocently.

“No.” Starkenh answered quickly. _He’ll probably abuse a loophole if I allowed that, and then I’ll end up with a stupid name again_ , Starkenh sourly thought.

Jonathan frowned and shrugged. “Shame.”

Starkenh thinned his lips and snapped his fingers one last time and the whole building began collapsing at a cellular level, almost everything was being ripped away rapidly to reveal the most beautiful thing Joey had ever seen in his life, but he couldn’t look at the most incredible thing anymore.

Because he was thrown forcefully into the strange, blue hole that came with the most brilliant thing he saw, and he swore he knew he saw it somewhere.

The last thing he saw was two vague humanoids appearing next to Starkenh.

===

The first thing Joey registered when he came into consciousness was _pain._

He couldn’t describe what was causing it, but he was in pain, the worst pain he ever felt that it topped going to the dentist, and he remembered that visit too well.

He was vaguely aware of his surroundings, his vision was unnervingly blurry for him and he couldn’t focus very much on that either, there were sounds of someone or something, it was hurting his ears and his vision was ebbing away.

The only thing he could properly register was that everything here smelled familiar.

But, he couldn’t focus any longer on that.

The pain made him scream so much until he passed out on the cold, _cold, **ground.**_

===

His eyes slowly opened up, he was half-awake, and his legs felt numb.

“Yeuuuuuu.” His numb jaw was working correctly, but it had that shite feeling like everything else in his body, his voice was concerning him though. It was rough and deep sounding.

_Hm._

He looked around his surroundings.

It seemed like he was in a hospital judging on how shite the funky hospital smell is, and he was in a white room with boring things. he looked down on his…body.

_Huh._

It’s been a long time since he’d seen himself in a hospital gown, and the since was when he was four and when the motorcycle incident happened.

But this was a bit too funky for his head. It was like the mirror floor-thing again, but his head was just tall.

And his hands, _oh wow_. They weren’t unhealthily pale anymore. They looked fine for once in his life, They didn’t look like _shite_ from the lack of sun, but they were think as sticks still.

Well, that made his eyes watery. 

“ _Hello?_ ” He looked up and saw the door open, there was a short-startled woman who had a tray of food and a cup of water.

“Yeuss?” Dear lord his voice was still slurred.

Her expression was unreadable as she walked to him and sat the tray down on the grey table next to where he was laying down. _Oh right_. He should probably sit up and not be a lazy-ass human being.

So, he did.

And he couldn’t.

His spine felt like it wanted to snap in half, so, he gave up and stared at the short woman out of pettiness and the energy of “Feed me you pathetic human being” with all he could muster, hoping his face was menacing enough for her.

The short ginger-haired woman was unnerved at this, unbeknownst to Joey.

She predictably backed away and left the room with a silent click of the door, leaving the room disturbingly quiet that made him remember the quiet beats in his head before shaking that off.

Jonathan sighed and bit on lips. He was feeling quite funky and very wrong, but at least his internal organs were more or less normal, and his heart was..surprisingly not about to have a heart attack. (even though it was a week ago, he _never_ wanted to experience that again. ~~He couldn’t sleep until it was five-AM~~ )

He sighed again made his numb hand reach out to a pillow anywhere on the bed and grabbed something fluffy and it was a heart-aching dark-floral patterned pillow, but it was just colder than even his AC’s temp.

He didn’t dwell on that anymore and held it close to his chest and hugged it for non-existent warmth.

So far, the only things he knew was that he was utterly alone here, he had changed biologically, everything was still numb but painful, he didn’t know where he was and lastly he was quite hungry for food more or less.

He would’ve been amused, eating bread crumbs and choking on them in any other situation, but it wasn’t the situation time for that, so he was stumped to do anything except touch the food tray because he couldn’t reach it and because it was most likely some type of rubbish hospital porridge.

He also couldn’t contact anyone to come to his room because he hadn’t been in a hospital since a long time ago, so he decided to snuggle his face into the pillow and stubbornly wait for someone to arrive and _do_ something. He couldn’t do _shite_ anyways.

It was pointless.

He allowed himself some leeway to weep. His eyes felt even more prickly.

Jonathan was still feeling quite disoriented, he could remember his previous encounter very well though, but not the…tippy-silly-something. That, probably had to do something with what he signed in the contract.

~~(A quiet moment later, Jonathan had decided to change Starkenh’s name to Ian mentally, being easier to remember.)~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where in a washed-out colorless rip-off Power Ranger attacks and fails to do so, a child contemplates life and gets angry _again_ , a madman deliberately avoids said child and both hate something.
> 
> Oh and there's a bride.

Jonathan C. Hale did not appreciate being a crying, shuddering and hungry mess of a human being in a hospital bed hugging a decrepit green-covered pillow that made his ribs want to tear apart any moment.

Scratch that, Jonathan C. Hale _didn’t_ appreciate his own mistake of letting that woman leave him to try and eat this food all by himself. He considered that another case of casual neglect in his life, he refused to consider anything else about that statement.

But that woman…made his blood boil. Why did she back away?

He didn’t have an intimidating face, and his glare was a _joke_ at best and pitiful at worst.

He didn’t know anything god _damn it_ , and now he was angry at the world for the umpteenth time. 

. . . .

He breathed in and out calmly. He really needed to stop being emotive about this.

But that meant he needed a distraction, and he didn’t have his busted laptop to us- _oh **shit.**_

Ah. He can’t socialize with anybody he knows anymore, because they probably don’t exist here, though even if they did-

_It. Just. Won’t. Be. The. Same._

So, now his way of socializing was pried from his roasted rotting hands back then so literally.

That’s just great. So _very fucking **great.**_

He dug his head into the decrepit pillow more. His stomach grumbled for food and he ignored it like so many times before. _God he was feeling like the embodiment of depressing shit today_ , because he felt like he sucked out the happiness of that woman.

He’s such a hesitant bastard. An incredibly afraid one, and he hates that, he resigns himself to that. 

it’s so incredibly disappointing for him, that no _matter_ how many times he reads and _reads_ fiction, he _can’t_ escape reality. It felt all so bleak, like there was no hope for him. Like it was too late, and maybe that was true. That it was true. 

But he still wanted to believe in abhorrent lies, lies that welcome his unwelcome presence in reality.

God, he wanted to _just_ , disappear from reality and become something simple, just like his childhood.

He wanted to get back his innocence and be blissfully ignorant what was so _wrong with the world._

He was just so sick of the world. That what was made him hold and cling onto drawing. It brought him genuine _joy_. But it just was never _enough._

He didn’t have enough _time_ , He didn’t have enough _friends_ , He didn’t have enough _familial connections_. He didn’t have _everything_. He wasn’t greedy, but it was a natural inclination of _want_ and not _need._

And it _showed_. He was a tiny speck of existence, insignificant in the inner workings of the world, he was just a _child._ And that _hurt._

And he cried again. It was second time again he cried today.

He rarely if ever, cried. The last time he remembered crying was when he was a callous but well-hidden seven-year-old who got exiled from his sweet and _absolutely_ greedy grandmother because he just wanted to eat _food_ with her. 

She never was the same anymore after his true father died to a heart attack in the hospital.

He sighed, there he goes, venting to himself in this frigid bed.

His eyes furrowed. _Frigid Bed?_

He craned his head a little and saw, saw, that there was ice creeping up the bed he was on.

It was frightening, and he rose from the bed, his entire body in pain, and hopped off the bed with his cold feet landing on the tiled floor of the room in a defensive stance with the decrepit pillow in his hands as a shield.

He saw there was something in the dark corner of the room, it looked inhumane, with it’s frigid-looking silver mechanical body there with it’s un-moving head with no eyes, it was vaguely familiar to him.

It stepped out of the corner and into the light and with its cold mechanical voice and spoke words that made his spine want to get shoved into his brain when he realized what it was.

“ _ **YOU WILL BE UPGRADED.**_ ”

It was a Cyberman and he was going to be turned into one.

_Shit._

Jonathan C. Hale _absolutely_ did not agree to what was happening and looked over to his frozen over bed and hopped over it, his legs suffering again and his head having headache that he ignored, and ran to the door while the Cyberman was repeating that pants-shitting phrase over and over again as it approached faster towards him.

Unfortunately, Joey, known as Jonathan, did not have good stamina and body control, and couldn’t out run the Cyberman. It blocked the door and stood there menacingly.

He held the decrepit pillow in his hands like a shield to save himself from the menacing Cyberman.

“ ** _YOU WILL BE UPGRADED._** ” The Cyberman repeated.

“I will most certainly _not_ , so piss off you Power Ranger rip-off!” He yelled, holding his decrepit pillow tight in his skinny hands, in a deep corner of his mind he realized his vocal cords were still suffering mostly because of speaking so suddenly.

“ _ **THEN YOU WILL BE DELETED.**_ ” The blasted Cyberman said.

“Still _no_ , bi-“ Joey’s rigid curse was cut off when he heard an unmistakable sound happen.

- _ **Vvorp Vvorp Vvorp**_ -

His voice hitched, and he didn’t dare to turn around in fear being ganked by the Cyberman.

His legs were shaking, and his body was breezy and freezing, he was still frightened by the Cyberman and-

“ _Hello?_ ” 

-The most terrifying man had arrived at the scene with his sentient little TARDIS.

Jonathan spoke loudly and quickly with his hitched up deep voice as he turned to face the man with a frightened expression. “ _Yes!_ Whoever you are please _help me the bloody out with this bloody robot-fish head thing becau-_ “ The Cyberman let it’s hand reach out to when you didn’t look back.

Jonathan turned back in time and ducked under the Cyberman’s hand, thanking his improved hearing, he hugged his pillow even closer his chest. “- _Because this bloody thing wants to “delete” me!_ ”

The man was just gawking at Jonathan, but he motioned him to get into the TARDIS right this instant.

“ _ **DELETE.**_ ” The Cyberman said again, possibly ignoring the madman, as it aimed for Jonathan again.

Jonathan decided to nod instead of speaking and dodged the Cyberman’s hand again, lunging into the TARDIS with an imperfect roll and ended up on the floor in pain, holding his decrepit pillow tightly still.

The man shut the door close and turned around with an uneasy expression aimed at Jonathan, The man was wearing a pinstripe suit with a trench coat and not very flattering shoes.

Jonathan stared back with a frown.

His stomach grumbled, and Jonathan shoved his face into the decrepit pillow out of angry embarrassment.

They both went silent and it was awkward for a couple of minutes. 

The pinstripe suit wearing man spoke first. “…I’m The Doctor.”

Jonathan moved an inch and raised his head and looked up at man who he was familiar already with, unsure on how react, he hugged the decrepit pillow even tighter. 

“..Christian Hale.”

The Doctor didn’t have to know who he was anyways. This was just probably a chance encounter and he’ll be kicked out of the TARDIS in no time after he learned to adjust himself and be rational.

The Doctor clapped, his facial expression not matching his cheery tone. “Right, Christian, stand up and walk to the left, you’ll find something.” Then the Doctor just walked away and began what he always did at the console.

 _Well that was something_ , Jonathan thought. He slowly stood up from the floor and held the decrepit pillow under his left arm. He felt incredibly off still and walked left to a hallway with one of his legs limping behind.

He turned a corner, and remembered something and stopped walking.

He wasn’t surprised about the “TARDIS-Is-A-Police-Box” thing and the “It’s-Bigger-ON-The-Inside” thing either. 

Maybe that was why the Doctor was uneasy about him. He didn’t act like any of his companions did before. He didn’t react to the strangeness of the situation. 

But, there was something _off_ about the Doctor, Jonathan could feel it and grasp on his own gut feeling and _know_ there was something wrong with the Doctor, and here hoped he isn’t someone important to him in the future. If that ever happened, Jonathan would bet it would happen with brainwashing, mind control or forced infatuatio- 

_That_ , made Jonathan consider the idea of a Yandere-fied Doctor.

Jonathan perished the thought _immediately_ and continued walk with a shiver up his spine until he found a cyan-painted door in front of him.

He observed the door for a moment and opened it, it was so, unexpected that it could have given him a heart attack right now. He saw his room. _His room._

It wasn’t burning down. _It wasn’t burning._

Jonathan wanted to hug, slap and break the balls of whoever made an exact replica of his room. It was disturbing, but it was a thing he was taking.

He closed the door and saw his god forbid, _pink polka slippers._

He immediately slipped his feet into them and felt incredibly giddy that he would’ve almost fallen into his self-deprecating monologue habit.

And he realized another thing. His bed was here. He turned his head slowly towards it.

It was still on the ground and it was the same as he left.

The pillows were there.

He stuffed the decrepit pillow into the wooden, broken down closet and ditched it in a heartbeat

He took the two pillows and hugged those for a long time and realized he needed to change clothes.

He ditched the pillows thereafter and rummaged in his clothing drawer like a dog.

Wait. 

Did he need to ditch wearing casual clothes for this? 

…

_Shite._

This is why he didn’t like going outside home, he didn’t like the sun either.

Jonathan rummaged through the lower half of his colorful clothing drawer.

By the time he finished picking out clothes, which was a long time that would’ve made his Father have a heart attack in his grave, the clothes he threw out were very fine, by his opinion anyways.

Brown cameo-colored pants, lime boxers, a white buttoned shirt with a red bow-tie and..wait, what was it called? 

_Ah yes, a v-shaped indigo diamond patterned sweater. Sleeves not included._ Jonathan bitterly thought.

God, he felt that thing didn’t belong in his room at all, given it looked incredibly out of place in his room that just speaks modern all over it without a speck of something that spoke it was classy and cleverly decorated. Although it was vaguely familiar to him, he just couldn’t find the right word. 

He sighed and changed into the clothes, throwing the hospital gown off into the basket that was in the right corner of his slightly dilapidated room. Maybe he should wear a jumper next time.

===

Jonathan walked back to the console room wearing the aforementioned clothes with the addition of red Converse shoes that was uncomfortably the right size, replacing his shamelessly pink polka slippers, he also brought one of his pillows.

The Doctor wasn’t here, he realized. He was probably out there somewhere.

Jonathan shrugged and put the pillow down on the floor and sat on it. There weren’t any chairs anyways. (Jonathan didn’t consider _that_ chair as a chair. It was disgraceful and would belong in a heap of fire from hell any day.)

And he didn’t have a lot to do, so, he observed the interior of the TARDIS.

It wasn’t far off from what he could compare in the show or what he imagined it would’ve look liked, he supposed. He couldn’t remember what some places or things most of the time, so far, he would’ve loved to get the ability to remember well even with some minor drawback.

Although the TARDIS looked…he couldn’t describe it well enough. He had a limited vocabulary and-

 _Oh_. He realized that during this useless moment his throat didn’t hurt and didn’t feel like it was having sandpaper wedged in and rubbed six ways over to Sunday anymore.

“Test, Test, Te-es-tttt.” Oh wow. He sounded genuinely British, although he felt a little down. 

Jonathan, for all his greediness and his frail little heart, wanted to be Scottish so very much, so he could complain and be _cross_ to just about everything and everyone and to not seem out of place.

While slightly unfortunate, he supposed faking a British accent in high school did have some benefits in the long run, although he did miss having his natural wishy-washy accent that didn’t feel right with English even though it was his first and foremost _first_ language he’d picked up from his mother.

“Bugger.” He muttered. Maybe this had to do something with Ian or that tippy-silly-something.

He hummed. There was nothing to do still. The boredom was getting to him.

His stomach grumbled loudly, _again._

Maybe he should stop contradicting, he bleakly thought as he stood up from the pillow.

He giggled and shut up a moment later, slapping his own face to fix that mistake.

Jonathan C. Hale doesn’t giggle, he reminded.

And Jonathan C. Hale doesn’t or will smile, ever. He doesn’t have any sentiment of doing it.

But Christian Hale does. He does both of those, he would do it for his little brother, he would do anything for him. Die even.

. . . .

Jonathan decidedly keeps quiet and heads off to somewhere on the TARDIS, finding the kitchen after a few moments.

He begrudgingly opens a brown paper bag on the counter he found, hoping it’s what he thinks it is, and he’s right for once. It’s just ordinary small pieces of warm bread.  
Jonathan immediately closes it and snatches it from the corner. He exits the kitchen and runs back to the console room and sits down on the pillow again.

He devours the pieces of bread like the hungry child he is, and he supposed this is reason why he liked bread. Small and fulfilling. And he certainly doesn’t know how many pieces of bread he’d eaten in his life.

For some reason, after eating more bread that could possibly fit in the small paper bag, he reckoned the paper bag was infinite, because it seemed like that. Although he really wished he had hot chocolate to go with this. He’d dip it like a biscuit and seem like an uncultured bastard for all to see without shame.

He didn’t have any shame anyways, shame was for wimps. He dropped the idea that shame was important the moment his step-father suddenly appeared out of nowhere and judged him based on his apparent stupidity via body language and late reactions like a certain self-proclaimed sociopath.

Tragic things that happen to people and rile them up later on doesn’t give them any justification for wanting death for someone else anyways. It’s humanely petty.  
Jonathan stopped that train of thought and closed the paper bag, losing his appetite.

His hands felt prickly, so, he rose up from the chair pillow and went off to somewhere again, arriving at a birch door. He opened it and entered the nondescript bathroom and closed the door gently.

He avoided looking at the mirror and washed his hands quietly under the silver faucet that he soon turned off.

He still didn’t look and patted his hands on his pants.

Jonathan closed his eyes and raised his head. He stood there still and breathed.

He opened his eyes and saw someone else entirely.

Jonathan really wished he was having a heart attack right now, because he dearly hoped it was an elaborate prank the TARDIS did with the mirror, but it was too real for it to be fake.

Jonathan’s father would have been rolling in his grave and laughing at him in deep seated spite.

His eyes were an incredibly kind oceanic blue, he had the prettiest eyelashes he’d ever seen, and his eyebrows were thinner. There was no sign of his pure blackish brown eyes made of regret, no sign of his poorly cut long eyelashes and no sign of his thick and messed up eyebrows that he couldn’t wiggle.

He didn’t have any baby fat on the edges of his formerly damaged face. He had a sharp chin, small cheekbones, white teeth that would have blinded him if he was in a cartoon. There was no sign of his dry lips, his freckles, his yellowed teeth or his black dot near his right eye.

He didn’t have his mop of black unruly hair, he didn’t have that. He had dark blue hair styled evenly in the middle with _bangs_. There was no black roots or brown roots signifying that this wasn't his natural hair color.

Jonathan didn’t look like a thirteen-year-old, He looked significantly older that he could place was around sixteen and nineteen. He realized this was likely the reason why he was still so disoriented and feeling his body was out of touch with himself, because it _was_.

And there, Jonathan felt his heart had gained another gaping hole alongside the first one.

He lost something vital to himself again, even if it was detrimental for him, it was still _him._

This was why he hated himself and his namesake.

He was always being compared to his grandfather, being compared by his parents to his grandfather after naming him the same name. They kept assuming he would live-up to his namesake.

His best friend, the little girl he’d known since childhood, kept comparing him to his grandfather like they were comparing something so vital to their life, that, wasn’t true for him. He could see his best friend’s blatant disappointment in him not being him. 

He could see his elementary teacher’s disappointment of him not being him. He could see his dear uncle Anthony’s failure in hiding his disappointment whenever he saw Jonathan or meet him.

Everyone he knew in his whole short life was disappointed, that he wasn’t courageous, that he wasn’t brave, that he wasn’t full of optimism.

And that he didn’t look like what they were expecting That they expected a brilliant charming and courageous man.

Everyone simply expected to see his grandfather and not him.

Even if they didn’t know who his grandfather was, they’ll always find out who he was.

Then they’ll replace what they see Jonathan as and chase his grandfather’s shadow the next by projecting what they imagine his grandfather would be and be disappointed just like all the others.

Nobody did not want to see and interact with Jonathan C. Hale.

Everybody only wanted to see and project his grandfather on him, expecting him to react the same way he did, so on and so forth and be disapproving and disappointed In him.

There was nothing he had In common with his grandfather.

But they ignore that so blatantly and _expect, assume_ , and end up disappointed in the end.

It felt like an endless cycle of torture for Jonathan and that was why he didn’t want anything to do with his grandfather.

And now, his damned name comes back to haunt and mock him about his grandfather, a man he never met, taunt and imply that he is not what he thinks he is.

That he is not Jonathan C. Hale, but his grandfather instead.

Reality, it seemed, disagreed with what he was and wanted him to look like his grandfather.

His knuckles became white when he clenched his fists and Jonathan began crying with regret over so many things.

Over _dying_ , over the _meeting_ , over the _contract_ and over _this._

He wanted to deal with this by monologuing alone deprecatingly as usual, but it didn’t feel right to do that anymore. It would probably make him feel worse and lose his grip on reality again.

Jonathan felt bile rise from his throat.

He _dearly_ wanted to _obliterate_ the mirror with the reflection of a man he never was. But he held back.

And held back he did.

He left the bathroom, slamming the door close with a curse.

Jonathan promised himself, crossing over his fragile heart and vowing to eat an eggplant with banana cupcakes filled with ketchup, that moment he would never look in a mirror ever again.

===

Jonathan, with his still red puffy eyes of anger, was walking back to the console to toil his time away sitting on the pillow he brought and be an insomniac again.  
Although he realized mid-way back he couldn’t be an insomniac anymore because he didn’t have anything to keep him occupied to skip the normal sleep cycle of a human being. Bugger.

Maybe he should keep on theorizing on what would’ve happened if the Doctor went Yandere, or if the Valeyard could be Yandere. 

_Wait_ , Jonathan paused in his mind. _No. That’s..that’s just a horrifying thought._

And then a chain of realizations hit him.

Parallel universes exist.

There’s at least always a Doctor, a Rose or a companion in each of them.

There’s possibly some few or thousands of parallel universes that have the unfortunate luck of having a Yandere Doctor.

And lastly, there was a slim chance of over a hundred universes having all living beings exterminated except the Yandere Doctor and his unfortunate target.

Jonathan winced inwardly. _Ooh, poor guy or woman, or whoever they were._

He hoped there was one universe or two that had said unfortunate target escape the previously mentioned version of the Doctor or kill said version even.

Although if the Doctor heard what he was thinking he was probably going to get the boot.

And that was half a best-case scenario he deduced based on some basic things.

Jonathan shuddered, _God, this universe was horrifying._

_Why couldn’t he just at least end up in Sherlock? At least that had a slightly solid ground of logic and he could’ve probably lived a boring life with him looking at John’s blog occasionally and complain on how stupid the plot is sometimes._

And then he heard something, no some _one_ , when he arrived at the spacious console room with his righ- _left_ hand running through his desperately styled hair, his dark blue bangs ruffled away and not obscuring his eyes just like he wanted. 

He felt a small triumphant victory that made him feel slightly depressed, but that got knocked out when he realized what he walked into.

The Doctor was there at the console, doing whatever Doctor-ish things he was doing.

Jonathan felt quite _awkward_ , and was about to get and ask the Doctor’s attention since he didn’t really know what he could do in the meantime without ruining the whole universe in the process by spoiling the Doctor.

Jonathan inwardly sighed and rubbed his red puffy eyes.

And then he blinked for second and someone was just, _there_ now.

It was a brown-haired woman in a white wedding dress, nothing remarkable, but if this was any other situation without the TARDIS and the Doctor, Jonathan would’ve crumpled to the ground being a coward and poke the woman with a stick until they came to a compromise and help each other out.

But it wasn’t that situation. 

The unremarkable bride didn’t notice Jonathan yet as the Doctor looked up from the console after pressing something and was legitimately confused with wide eyes in response to a random person suddenly in the TARDIS with no explanation. 

“What?” The Doctor said.

Said person who caused the Doctor to be legitimately confused turned around and made a high pitched noise that Jonathan would’ve sworn belong to a mouse if the woman wasn’t here.

“ _What?_ ” The Doctor’s eyebrows furrowed In confusion.

“Who’re you?” The bride asked as she looked at the Doctor, up and down, still not noticing the spectator.

The Doctor just sputtered, and it was almost the funniest thing Jonathan had seen today.

“ _Where am I??_ ” She asked with slight panic escaping her, Jonathan vaguely noted that she had a weird accent.

“ _ **What??**_ ” The Doctor looked even _more_ confused with his ridiculous look on his face that Jonathan wanted to laugh at so badly.

“What the hell is this place?!” She demanded with anger to the Doctor.

 _ **“What?!**_ ” The Doctor, who was already very confused with what was happening, asked with his ridiculous face looking even more ridiculous.

Jonathan, who tended to contradict himself, found this too funny to _not_ laugh at and broken into a massive grin that would’ve made any high school girl in his proximity melt.

A snicker escaped his mouth and the two, The Doctor and the woman, turned and looked at him on varying levels of confusion, with the Doctor experiencing the highest level with his even _more_ ridiculous face and the woman in the wedding dress still angry but confused more so.

“What’re _**you laughing at?!**_ ” She demanded while the Doctor was confused, exasperated and perplexed on what type of situation he was in right now.

Jonathan laughed and ignored her, laughing and laughing until he wiped a salty tear from his eyes as he held onto his side from laughing too much.

“ _W-Nothin’_ , it’s just…th-that look-“ Jonathan pointed to the ridiculously funny look on the Doctor’s face. “I-is, so _damned_ funny I co-couldn’t hold it in an-anymore.” He wheezed.

Both of them, didn’t know what to make of that, and rather awkwardly stood in the console room.

Jonathan, who stopped wheezing, wiped his eyes of tears again and stood up straight and froze in realization.

 _Shit_ , Jonathan cursed with instant regret, _He shouldn’t have laughed._

_**|=TBC==| >** _


End file.
